Chapter 4
The interior of the military transport plane was vast and utilitarian, a cavernous metal shell lined with exposed wiring.
Rows of worn, padded seats stretched endlessly down the cabin, bolted firmly to the floor.
Dim red lights hung overhead, casting a muted glow so soldiers could rest without total darkness.
The dull rumble of the engines thrummed through the fuselage, a constant, grounding presence beneath the faint hum of circulating air.
Strapped into his seat, Moose felt the low vibrations beneath him, a steady reminder of the miles piled up at altitude.
The scent of engine oil and recycled air mingled with the faint musk of worn fabric and gear.
Occasional clangs of boots and whispered conversations floated in the background, punctuated by long silences heavy with anticipation.
Outside, the small round windows framed brief glimpses of clouds rushing past—oblivious witnesses to the turmoil unfolding inside. The plane was both prison and lifeline, a steel bird carrying them through darkness toward an uncertain dawn.
Moose sat rigid, eyes glossy but unfocused.
His leg bounced like a restless drum, fingers clenching and unclenching in quiet frustration.
The knot tightening in his stomach wasn’t just nerves; it was fear, gnawing relentlessly at every thought of Nancy, lost somewhere on Jim’s farm and possibly in pain.
Dog watched him across the aisle, noting the tension pulling tight at Moose’s jaw and the nervy rhythm of his leg.
As a medic, he knew what Moose needed—an outlet.
Normally, guys like him would release stress with pounding fists against a bag or running themselves raw.
But trapped in a plane for sixteen hours, none of that was possible.
The pressure built inside like steam with no vent.
The drone of the engines mingled with the weight pressing on Moose’s chest, making the confined space feel suffocating.
Surrounded by hums of machinery and soft murmurs, his restlessness was a sharp contrast to the calm facade demanded by endless hours in the air.
It was in this suspended moment that Dog leaned in, breaking the silence with a gentle offer.
“Want to talk? I can listen.”
Moose’s fists tightened again. He barely whispered, voice rough, “For fourteen years, I’ve been running from it…
left my mom in that place, only showing up now and again.
” His gaze dropped to the passing clouds, unseeing.
“Always telling myself it was enough. That she’d be okay.
But now…” His voice cracked beneath the weight of regret.
Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet Dog’s, the pain hidden there like a simmering fire. “I was the only one who ever believed in her,” he said, voice tight, “the only one who knew she wasn’t stupid…and I left her there.” His shoulders sagged, the raw weight settling heavy between them.
Dog’s eyes softened, his own steady but firm. “Moose, we all carry a load—things we wish we’d done differently, people we left behind. Feeling it doesn’t make you weak. Hell, it makes you human.”
He paused, letting the words sink in, then continued quietly but with insistence. “You’ve carried this alone too long. Sometimes you have to let it out, say it, feel it, even scream if that is what it takes. Bottling it up is the real fight, and it burns you out.”
Dog’s hand found Moose’s shoulder, firm and steady. “You’re not alone. Not now. Talk to me. You can let it loose.”
His words hung in the air, clear enough to touch the others nearby. But none stirred or spoke. The team’s silence was deliberate—a quiet understanding that Moose needed this space to unravel, to lay down a burden carried too long.
Moose’s shoulders trembled as the dam began to break. No interruptions, no judgment. Just steady presence—men who knew the cost of holding everything in. In that stillness, Moose gathered the strength to let his guard fall and face the turmoil buried deep inside.
His voice came slow, hesitant, eyes fixed on his hands twisting nervously in his lap. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, his restless movements betraying the tension coiled inside him.
“Two nights before my eighteenth birthday, I was sneaking out to meet a girl when I passed the barn.” Moose snorted softly, a brief, self-deprecating laugh escaping him as he rolled his eyes.
He shifted awkwardly, fingers tapping nervously.
“Not supposed to be out that late, but I needed to get away, even if just for a little while.”
His eyes darkened, haunted. “I heard voices—my uncles, Jim, David, and Reggie—arguing inside.” His jaw clenched tighter, fists squeezing. “Their words were sharp, tense. Things I wasn’t meant to hear.”
He took a shaky breath, voice thick with pain. “They were fighting about whether to tell me who my real dad was. About how Nancy was raped by their older brother, Jonah, a man strung out on drugs, who OD’d when I was two or three.”
His hands tangled into fists on his lap as his eyes focused somewhere distant, shadowed. “I never knew Jonah. But that night, hearing it all… everything I thought I knew about family started to unravel.”
The room fell deeply silent. Nova was first to move, crossing quickly to wrap Moose in a tight, steadying embrace. Her presence was a warm anchor amid his raw admission.
From a corner, a soft voice whispered, “Fourteen years of carrying that alone… no wonder it’s breaking now.”
Others nodded quietly, their faces etched with empathy and respect. No one rushed to fill the silence. Instead, they gave Moose the space needed to carry that weight down—surrounded by a team that understood what it meant to hold so much inside.
Moose shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the weight of his confession still hanging in the air.
He scratched the back of his neck and forced a crooked smile, his usual defense kicking in.
“Well, that’s enough emotional wreckage for one flight, huh?
” His voice cracked slightly on the joke, betraying the embarrassment beneath.
He glanced around at the quiet faces watching him and felt heat rise in his cheeks.
Making light used to be his way to keep control, to shove all those hidden feelings down deep where no one could see them.
Now that they were out, bare and raw, he wasn’t sure what to do with the vulnerability—it felt exposed, almost foreign.
“Guess I’m not the best at this whole, ‘let it out’ thing,” he muttered, eyes flicking away for a moment before locking back with Dog’s steady gaze. “Thanks for listening… even if I’m a mess.”
The team exchanged knowing glances, their expressions softening with compassion. Nova smiled gently, squeezing Moose’s shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, joking’s how you cope—that’s alright. We get it.”
Dog nodded, his tone warm but firm. “You’ve been carrying a lot alone. Letting it out takes strength, not weakness. We’ve got your back, mess and all.”
Warden offered a half-smile from his seat. “Yeah, we’ve all got our ways of handling the tough stuff. No judgment here.”
Blast and Spider, sitting quietly nearby, gave tentative nods, understanding more than words could say.
The room felt lighter but steady, a circle of silent support letting Moose know he wasn’t alone, no matter how messy the moment.